Neeve
by Simpa007
Summary: Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter pays a visit. She makes an impression in more ways than one. Her ideas on 'Loyalty' also leave a lot to be desired... OC centric IS BEING RE-WRITTEN
1. Chapter 1

**Neeve**

**AN: This is my first 'Sherlock' fic and I have spent quite a long time on it. If it's well received then it will continue so, please, tell me what you think.**

Also, a big thank-you to .Chaos for helping me to clean up the chapter.

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Sherlock.'**

Chapter 1

Sherlock let out a sigh; there hadn't been any decent cases for about a month now. What was the world coming to? Perhaps the police had just gotten smarter in the New Year and no longer needed him. He scoffed; highly unlikely. Not with Anderson still on the team, anyway.

"Bored?"

John's voice made the dark haired man look up. He merely mumbled something incoherent in answer to his flat mate's question.

"What about the case that Lestrade came up with last week? Any ideas?"

"Don't you pay attention?" Sherlock inquired whilst looking over his friend who was hunched over his laptop.

John made to answer but was interrupted—

"No. Too busy blogging."

At this statement, John shut the laptop down (Just a little bit offended) and sent an inquiring look toward the taller man.

"Go on then. How'd you solve it?"

"There was nothing to solve." Sherlock bent forward and picked his violin from its case, "Two drunken teens accidently push a friend onto a railway track."

"Not suicide then? Or murder?"

"Nope." Sherlock sighed, "Hardly worth my time."

He plucked at the strings in boredom. John sighed.

"Could you not do one of your experiments? I don't know…" He paused; thinking, "How long after death do a person's teeth fall o—"

"Thirty days." Sherlock tilted his head, "Give or take."

Looking over at his friend as he, once again began tugging, rather aimlessly at the strings of his instrument, looking much like an extremely bored child, John stood and pulled his on his coat. He began making his way out of the door.

"Where are you going?"

John exhaled, in slight annoyance; the man could be very difficult to live with.

"For a walk."

Sherlock nodded, before calling after the doctor—

"We need milk!"

There was a 'click' as the door to the building shut.

**)()()()()()(**

He made his way down Baker Street. He had no preference as to where he was going; he didn't really mind. Looking up towards the sky, watching as each breath he took hung effortlessly in the chilled air, he turned the slight corner at the end of the road and began to walk the length of the black railing border lining the park, well, it was more of a green with a few trees and some flower beds. Although this was the case, it was used quite a lot; dog walkers, joggers even the occasional picnicking family. It was always empty at night though. It was about half past nine; John had checked his watch. This was one of the main reasons that he was confused to hear sound coming from behind the dark railings.

Someone was having a conversation. No; after further listening it was almost definitely an argument. It didn't sound too domestic either. John hurriedly made his way towards the gate of the park and stepped in. A few metres away a young girl, about seventeen, eighteen, perhaps, was pinned to a tree by a taller man, clearly a few years older than her. The man had his lower arm pushed against her throat; keeping her in place whilst two other men searched through a medium sized suitcase. The girl's lip was bleeding profusely and a large cut on her forehead seeped crimson liquid, her dark hair was in disarray but she didn't look scared. No. She looked angry as the larger man who had her pinned reached inside her dark coat. He pulled out a slim black device; the girls mobile. Even from where John stood, it looked awfully expensive.

He took this moment to step in—

"Hey!"

The three men looked his way and, clearly too flustered to realise that he was alone and therefore probably was no threat to them, ran. The larger man dropped the mobile to the ground. It hit a root of the tree and smashed.

She immediately knelt and examined the dark pieces at her feet.

"You idiot!"

Now, that really wasn't the reaction he was expecting. He stood, a little dumbfounded.

"What the hell were you doing?"

John faltered for a second before regaining his posture.

"You needed help."

The dark haired girl scoffed as he made his way over to help her up.

"I was doing fine on my own!" She claimed.

John ignored her outburst and made to tidy up the mess that the men had made. She also scrambled towards the suitcase that had been rifled through.

The mess wasn't huge; Clothes littered the ground as well as a few books and the odd piece of makeup. The girl straightened a little and desperately rummaged through the larger area of the case. She visibly relaxed and sighed deeply in relief. John helped her to place her things back into the black bag, whilst doing so, he spotted what she was relieved about; a set of straighteners and curling tongs lay on a lilac towel at the bottom of the case. He frowned before speaking—

"Where are you headed?"

Okay, so this girl clearly didn't like him all that much and she definitely needed to sort out her priorities, but she needed help. She did look rather shaken.

"Uhh, Baker Street." She paused, raising a questioning eyebrow at him, "Why?"

"As I said; you need some help."

She copied him, "And as I said; I'm fine."

Man, this girl was stubborn.

"Look," John reasoned, "Just let me walk you. I'm headed that way anyway."

A low groan escaped her lips and she visibly rolled her eyes.

"Fine."

"Okay." John stood and helped her up; she wore dark, heeled ankle boots which was odd as she had clearly been traveling.

He held out his hand once she was steadied.

"I'm John. John Watson."

"Neeve." She stated simply, ignoring his outstretched hand.

Definatly not a 'people person.'

**)()()()()()(**

The two walked, side by side down the road. Neeve had been quiet the whole way so far; the only noise emanating from her being the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement. Her hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of her dark, poncho coat (For John carried her case) and she appeared to be sulking. Her lip still bled, as did the cut on her forehead but, other than that, she appeared to be un-harmed.

"Sorry."

It was quiet, and barely audible, but he just about heard it. She continued—

"For… ranting about the phone. It's just… Y'know… it was expensive." She paused, taking a deep breath, "It wasn't your fault."

It sounded as though she wasn't one to apologise often.

John nodded, "It's not a problem; you had a shock."

She mirrored his action and remained quiet until they came to 221b.

"Just in here." She mumbled, gesturing to the front door.

John did a double take.

"Here?"

She nodded, "My Gran lives in the bottom flat."

"Mrs Hudson?"

She smiled slightly. "Yeah. Do you know her?"

"She's my landlady."

"Oh."

The two stood in an awkward silence before John spoke up. Sounding surer than he felt; Mrs Hudson had never mentioned a granddaughter.

"C'mon then."

As soon as the two of them stepped through the front door, a voice sounded from upstairs; Sherlock.

"Did you get the milk? I fancy tea."

"Didn't get that far." John answered whilst placing Neeve's suitcase on the carpet.

"Yes." Sherlock appeared at the top of the stairs, "You didn't take nearly long enough."

"Sherlock, dear, don't shout down the stairs."

Mrs Hudson had now joined the two in the hallway.

Neeve shied a little closer to John, a sheepish look plastered firmly on her face. Mrs Hudson merely stared at the young girl, clearly shocked. John glanced up to see his flat mate watching the scene unfold with interest.

Sherlock studied the dark haired girl; a bleeding lip and forehead, tousled hair, that and the fact that John had carried her suitcase in led him to believe that she had been mugged, or something along the lines of.

"Neeve?"

The girl in question gave a small nod of her head.

"Gran."

Mrs Hudson threw her arms around the brunette and held her for a total of about a minute. Neither spoke a word until the older female held Neeve's face in her hands.

"What happened?"

John stepped in—

"She was mugged, she's fine, though."

"Yes. John Watson," Sherlock mumbled disdainfully, "forever the hero."

Neeve wrenched her face away from her grandmother and scowled at John.

"Almost mugged." She corrected him, "My phone's gone but that's fine."

John frowned as she brushed off what she had previously had a tantrum about.

Mrs Hudson ushered the two of them into her kitchen.

"John would you clean her up, please? Those cuts look ghastly."

John nodded and picked up the case at his feet before following the women through.

**)()()()()()(**

"Ow!" Neeve shied away from John as he applied the wet cotton wool to her forehead.

Sherlock stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the wooden frame whilst Mrs Hudson busied herself with making a round of tea. She spoke on about what had happened since the two had last seen each other. Apparently it had been a total of seven years.

"You were blonde, then, too." The landlady finished.

Neeve smiled slightly; evidently uncomfortable with the man in the doorway constantly staring at her.

"How old are you?" John questioned, obviously trying to distract the brunette.

"Twenty two." Sherlock answered for her.

She turned to him; surprised. Sherlock continued—

"But people tend to think that you are younger. That is why you wear those ridiculously high heels; to make yourself look taller." He gestured to her feet and she merely stared at him, "You left your parents… two days ago."

"Whatever for?" Mrs Hudson questioned as she sat opposite her granddaughter.

Once again, Sherlock answered first—

"An argument with your mother… no; Stepmother. Someone your age wouldn't just leave an actual parent after one argument so; stepmother. Your father is wealthy. So wealthy, in fact, that you believe that his wife is only in the relationship for his money-"

"Sherlock." John tried to stop him but he still continued—

"You have a younger sibling but he does not live with your father. He lives with your mother; that's why the homemade bracelet on your left wrist is the cleanest thing on your person, although most of your outfit is almost immaculate, that is always kept the safest; you rarely see him. Chances are that your mother is abroad otherwise you would have gone to her. Being unable to afford the flight unless on 'daddy's credit card' meant that you came to the next closest member of your family, even though you haven't seen her for years; your grandmother."

"Okay…" Neeve spoke slowly, scrutinizing the dark haired man in the doorway, "The bracelet, I get but the wealth?"

"Oh, please." Sherlock began, "The shoes; expensive. The jacket; definitely out of most twenty two year Old's price range and your make up, although subtle is evidently from an expensive range. Your whole presence practically screams 'little rich girl.'"

The room fell silent as Neeve looked at her feet and bit her lip. John sent a glare his flat mate's way. Sherlock merely shrugged. Mrs Hudson broke the silence—

"There is a small spare room on the top floor, Neeve." (She gestured to John and her granddaughter) "John if you could carry her case up I'm sure she'd be grateful."

Neeve nodded before picking up her mug of tea and following the landlady up the stairs. John followed behind with her suit case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Neeve**

**AN: ****Thank-you to Whisper, Descent Into Chaos and kie1993 for reviewing the first chapter.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Sherlock.'**

Chapter 2-

The next morning came quickly and after a much needed rest and a long shower, Neeve felt a little better.

John met her at about half seven in the morning as they both made their way out of their rooms, (The two bedrooms were on the same floor) She was fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a pair of beige coloured heels, a white top and a thick, knitted cardigan, matching her shoes, whereas John was still in his pyjamas and feeling a little awkward. She allowed him down the small set of stairs first as he asked—

"Going somewhere nice?"

"Oh," she looked down at her attire, "no. Just shopping; need a new phone."

John made to answer but Mrs Hudson's voice drifted up the stairs—

"Neeve? There's a letter for you. Did you tell anyone that you were coming here?"

"Uh, yeah." She paused and bit her lip a little before turning to John, "See you later."

**)()()()()(**

_Neeve,_

_That mobile was expensive. Not to mention the fact that it was a gift._

_I am not particularly happy. You know how much I like to text or call. Writing a letter is stupidly tedious. _

_You know where to find the transport. Be there soon, please._

It didn't need to be signed for the brunette to know who it was from. She bit her lip; sheepish and folded the letter up as she wandered into the small kitchen. It was there that she noticed a tray filled with two small plates of toast and two cups of tea.

"I'm sorry about Sherlock, dear." He grandmother spoke from behind her and she turned.

"Sherlock?" She paused, "Oh, the tall, rude man."

Mrs Hudson nodded before enquiring—

"I take it what he said was true; about you and Lesley?"

Neeve rolled her eyes in distaste at the sound of her father's wife's name.

"She's doing her best." Her gran stated quietly before perking up a little, "Anyway, grab a small slice of toast from Sherlock's plate. It'll be his way of apologising."

Neeve grinned, "I think I'll do just that."

She picked the marmalade covered toast and took a grateful bite before finishing the slice and passing the tray to her grandmother.

"I hope that they don't get this sort of treatment often. They have a fridge, don't they?" she joked.

"Yes, of course. But it is filled with body parts at the moment; Sherlock likes his experiments."

Neeve pulled a face of revulsion before stepping past her grandmother, kissing her cheek, and leaving the flat.

She made her way to the end of Baker Street and through the park. Not having a suitcase with her made her a lot less vulnerable and so she was happy to wander through the grounds.

She reached the other side of the green, as she had predicted a black car was parked up on the curb. She boldly made her way towards it, her heels clicking once again on the pavement. Obviously the driver had spotted her in the mirror as he stood from the car and opened the back door to let her in. Neeve thanked him as she made herself comfortable in the back seat.

"Where is he this time?"

The driver- David, she thought his name was- glanced in the mirror as he answered her—

"Near Battersea. Shouldn't take too long."

Neeve looked out of her window and stared at the scenery that was now slowly rolling by.

"Good."

The car pulled up, alongside a large block of warehouses. Once again, the driver opened the door for her to step out. Neeve thanked him before asking simply—

"Where?"

The driver shrugged.

"I don't get told much, miss. I'm just a driver."

Neeve nodded and sighed; as much as she liked what she did, she had never understood her boss's need to be so theatrical about things. She was only here for a new mobile phone after all. There really was no need for the dramatics.

After about ten minutes of wandering through the complex of large buildings and probably getting disastrously lost, she came across a hefty, bald man in a sharp, black, presumably Italian, suit. She greeted him with a faint smile. One of which he didn't even try to return.

"In here."

He gestured to his left and began to lead her, a hand holding onto her upper arm, through the back door of a large, grey building. He stayed completely silent as he led her through the wide hallways, his features set on an expression of calm and resolve.

He led her into the main room of the warehouse; a tall and empty area, before leaving her.

She wandered around the, presumably, empty crates before a voice sounded through the air, coming from behind her—

"Well, if it isn't my little swindler."

She frowned, not really liking the pet name that he had made up for her.

He stood there before her, wearing a sharp-looking navy suit with darker suede shoes.

"Admiring the view?" his egotistical voice made her look up, their eyes, once again connecting.

"Not at all." She answered snidely.

He noticed her lips quirk as she spoke and smiled before pulling a device from his inner breast pocket. It was identical to the one that he had last given her. He fondled it for a few more seconds before spinning in his hand and passing it over to the young brunette before him. She made to take it but he kept his grip tight on the mobile.

"Do try not to break this one, won't you?"

"_I _didn't break the last one." She stated.

He released his hold and whispered, leaning closer to her face—

"No, of course not." He smirked and sent a wink in her direction.

She merely rolled her eyes; her pure stubbornness had always seemed to amuse him, right from the very day that they had met.

He scrutinized her; taking in every detail, much like he normally did. She never squirmed or fidgeted under his gaze. She always kept her jaw set; eager not to show any signs of weakness. He liked that, her obstinacy. In fact he'd almost say that he admired it. He'd always thought it a good trait. After a minute or two of the two staring at each other; he deciphering and she glaring. Neeve made to turn but his voice made her stop.

"Dinner. Next week." He stated, "I'll text you the details."

She spun on her heels, her eyes narrow.

"Why?" She was hesitant, untrusting. He could see it in her eyes.

He laughed superiorly, "Well how else are you going to update me on our little project?"

She scowled but soon agreed none the less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Neeve**

**AN:**** Big thank-you to those that reviewed the last chapter; Pachax, Whisper, kie1993 and Descent Into Chaos.**

**Also, thank-you to all of you who put this on your alerts.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Sherlock.'**

Chapter 3

_Three days later…_

"What am I doing here?"

Sherlock seemed to ignore her question as he headed forward, a few steps ahead of the young brunette.

"Good morning, Sally." He greeted.

"Freak's here." The woman behind the tape spoke into her walkie-talkie before, once again, facing the two that had just begun to pass under the tape, "Who's this?"

She pointed to Neeve as she followed Sherlock. Sally continued—

"Did John leave you? Did he finally see sense?"

"Yeah," Neeve piped up, "where is he?"

"He had to work." He stated simply, hands stuffed in his pockets, making his way towards the front of the building.

Neeve scooted past Sally and followed him indoors.

The two were greeted by LeStrade in a small entrance hall. Neeve's shoes clicked on the dark wood that covered the floor. She chanced a quick look at Sherlock's face as he looked down at her heeled boots. Distaste flashed quickly over his features before he looked back up.

"Who's this?" LeStrade questioned, giving Neeve the quick once over.

Neeve gave him her name as his gaze settled a little longer on her choice of footwear.

"Are those really appropriate?"

Sherlock tutted as he passed the police officer.

"She's only five foot four. What do you expect?"

Neeve's mouth fell open; she hadn't told him how tall she was.

"How did you-?"

He stormed into another room, calling after him—

"Come on!"

A lucky guess? She supposed. She followed the consulting detective into the next room.

"I do hope that you aren't squeamish." LeStrade commented as the two shuffled past several people leaving the room that they were about to enter.

Neeve mumbled, "Not at all." Before entering the room.

The sight that awaited them was undoubtedly an appalling one. Neeve's eyes closed of their own accord upon seeing the two bodies strewn across the dark, wooden flooring. They had, quite obviously, been sliced to pieces. There was no other way to describe it. Two young women, possibly around the age of twenty, lay on their backs; both were on the floor with a look of both terror and shock clearly evident on their features.

Sherlock was already kneeling beside the closest body; he examined the five large gashes on her face. Her dark hair was wayward and several strands had been stuck to her face by the sticky crimson. Carefully, he pushed the dark locks aside-

The shock and panic that the dark haired girl had endured in the last few moments of her life were still etched on her face. A painful expression was painted permanently on her tanned features. Neeve set her jaw in mild disgust and apprehension at the mere sight of the two dead females sprawled on the floor before reminding herself that she was aware of worse and was bound to see worse whilst with Sherlock.

Sherlock moved toward the other body. She was the same; her eyes were wide in an expression of weighty pain, they stared, expressionlessly towards the dull, low ceiling of the room. Neeve swallowed before speaking up, her voice was quieter than she had first thought that it would be—

"Cause of death?" – It sounded more professional than she would have actually liked and soon, she found herself pinned under the probing stare of DI LeStrade to her left. The room stayed in an awkward silence before Sherlock sighed quietly and answered—

"Single bullet wound to the throat."

At first, the brunette found herself questioning his morality- he hadn't even so much as flinched on first sight of seeing the two blood-covered bodies of the young women, and the way of which he had just spoken showed to her that the devastating sight clearly was not bothering him in anyway. She wondered as to how John put up with him on a crime scene.

However, she had been briefed on him, taught, almost. This was just the way of which he acted; never had any friends (Although, this wasn't technically constant, for what was John if not a friend?) the list continued; married to his work, extremely clever and observant and little, if no, knowledge of any human emotions.

He had clearly spotted her watching him, for he cleared his throat. She looked up and met his eyes after being pulled from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Well," he began, sounding a tad bored, "You could just stand there and watch me do all of the work- not why you are here, by the way- or, you could come and take a look."

"Why?" She folded her arms; stubborn, "I can see from here that they are dead." (His eyes narrowed a little) "What more could I do?"

He sighed, "Just, come and take a look."

Neeve exhaled deeply before making her way down to his level. He shuffled to the right, closer to the girls face so that she could get a better view. She knelt, with her elbows on her knees, silent for about two minutes before LeStrade spoke up—

"Look, no offence, but is she going to be of any help at all?"

Sherlock stood, "I need a second point of view. She may not be a Doctor or anything of actual importance or significance, but she has eyes."

Neeve looked up quickly; she wasn't sure as to whether she should be insulted by that particular comment. She was something of _great_ significance, he just couldn't see it. She was more that extremely proud of herself for that last fact.

The dark haired man came to a standstill behind her again he gestured to the wounds on the female before the two of them and then to the blood that trailed along the floor and up about a metre on the wall.

"The swing of the blade was wide, the marks; they aren't precise, he just" (He made a large swinging motion) "Swung. Judging by the way that the lacerations are spread we're looking for someone left handed."

"He was angry?"

Sherlock nodded.

Neeve copied his action, not entirely understanding as to how he knew all of this. She glanced at LeStrade; no shock was shown on his face but… what looked like expectancy.

"Is that all?"

Sherlock didn't answer; he moved back towards the first body and crouched.

"He killed this one first, judging by the other's position."

Neeve glanced around the room, examining his deductions- the body of which she now stood by was slumped against the pale wall whereas her friend was a lot closer to the door of the room. The brunette took a guess in her head; the shorter one- of which she stood next to- had backed away after seeing her friend being killed. She shrugged; now understanding it a little easier now that she had an image in her mind. Albeit it wasn't a pleasant image but it helped a little.

"Who are they?" She asked quietly.

LeStrade cleared his throat, "Lara Kerr and Melisa Richards. Both aged twenty one." He paused as the two in the room took in the information, "They were both last seen getting into a car outside of 'Rouge' it's a nightclub a few miles north." He sighed, "That's all we have."

"It's horrible." Neeve stated.

She glanced down at the two girls, it was clear that they had been clubbing the night before; the taller- Lara, she thought- wore a short blue dress, the other wore something similar in red.

The brunette soon found herself yawning. She quickly glanced at her watch; _10:43pm_.

The day had been stressful as well as un-nerving. She really needed her bed.


	4. Author's Note

**I'm going to apologize now, this isn't an actual chapter.**

**I'm afraid that I am having quite a bit of trouble with this fic and so, I have decided to start again from scratch. It will involve the same OC (If a tad bit different) but a new story-line.**

**A massive thank-you to all who have alerted, favourite and reviewed this;**

**Whisper, Descent Into Chaos, Kie1993, Pachax and the odd anonymous reviewer.**

**Your comments have truly helped a lot and I hope that you will stick around and perhaps read the next one?**

**I'll admit that I am pretty sorry to see this go but, I may come back to it sometime in the future.**

**Thank-you all.**

**Simpa x**

**PS, I may message you when the next one is up.**


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